Chapter 4: Eighteen

Ever since his reading with Serena, John felt as if the world around him was quietly unraveling. The familiarity of his surroundings seemed fragile, like a thin veil peeling back to reveal what had been hidden underneath. 

It reminded him of summers when the family returned from day trips to find the house overheated. The Blu-Tack holding up his posters would soften in the heat, causing them to droop or fall. The blank spaces they left behind revealed forgotten marks and scuffs on the wall, imperfections he hadn’t realized were there. 

That’s how everything felt now—exposed. 

Serena’s words had lingered in his mind, especially the story she hinted at—the old woman from the village who had passed on her gift to John’s grandfather. Serena had said his mother likely knew more about it. 

John wanted to ask her, but the timing never seemed right. 

Thursday arrived with little fanfare. John had spent the last few days helping his mum with chores, her sore shoulders making it difficult for her to do things around the house. Despite their time together, John still hadn’t brought it up. 

Finally, on the car ride to Dra’s apartment, John decided to ask. 

“Can I ask you something about Pappou?” 

“Why do you ask?” 

“I spoke to someone recently,” John said cautiously, “and they mentioned something about a healer, a woman Pappou knew. They said you might know more about it.” 

Her hands tightened on the wheel. 

“Yes,” she said finally. “But promise me you won’t say anything to your father. He really doesn’t like it.” 

John nodded. 

She continued, her voice softer now. “I have it too, but not as strong. I think you’ve inherited it more fully.” 

“Why do you think that?” 

“All those times you came to us, telling us you’d seen or heard things. I knew what it was.” 

His mum began to tell the story, her words confirming what Serena had alluded to. 

“There was an old woman in the village, a healer of sorts. People went to her when doctors couldn’t help. She took away the evil eye, lifted curses, things like that. 

“Pappou spent a lot of time with her when he was young. She showed him many things but only taught him a little. Before she died, she whispered something in his ear. He couldn’t understand the words, but he felt as if part of her had entered him. She told him the world was changing—from the old ways to the new—and she could only pass on fragments of her gift. 

“She died that night.” 

John sat in silence, letting her words sink in. The answer raised more questions than it resolved. 

“I know I’ve seen ghosts,” he said finally. “And I’ve had dreams—dreams that warn me about things.” 

His mum nodded. “It’s the same for me. But you’re stronger.” 

For the first time in years, John felt a closeness to his mum he hadn’t thought possible. 

Was this the point of Serena’s reading? To bring them closer? 

Inside Dra’s apartment, the familiar chaos of pre-drinks was already underway. Music blasted from a speaker, and the group—Mary, Dra, Kiki, and Devon—crowded around the kitchen bench, mugs of cheap champagne in hand. 

“Johnny!” Mary shrieked, pulling him into a hug. 

“How do you feel?” Dra asked, handing him a mug. 

“To finishing high-school!” Devon declared, raising his drink. 

As John clinked mugs with the group, he felt the energy of the night take over. The awkwardness he often carried melted away, replaced by a growing sense of belonging. 

Despite their glamorous outfits and confident personalities, the group drank champagne out of mismatched mugs. 

“Why mugs?” John asked, curious. 

The room burst into laughter. Kiki finally explained, “We tried being classy with champagne glasses, but they kept breaking! So Brie, this rich bitch we know, said, ‘Stop pretending to be classy bitches and just use mugs!’ And we’ve been doing it ever since.” 

The simplicity and humor of it made John smile. 

“To mugs!” Dra declared, raising his drink again. 

The streets of the city were alive in a way John had never seen. It was like another world, one that emerged only after the shops closed and the office workers disappeared. Neon signs flickered in the shadows, and groups of friends, couples, and strangers wove through the streets, the hum of excitement threading them together.

The line outside QnA moved faster than John expected, his nerves barely having time to settle before they reached the entrance.

The music hit him first. Loud and pulsating, the bassline reverberated through his chest. The air was thick—smoke mingling with sweat and a dozen different colognes. Dra grabbed John’s hand, pulling him through the crowd with practiced ease.

“I’ll show you around, and then we’ll dance!”

The club unfolded like a maze of sensory overload. The main dance floor was vast and cavernous, its walls bathed in shifting projections that pulsed to the beat. A mezzanine level offered shadowy alcoves and tucked-away seating, while a second bar glowed faintly in the corner of a smaller, crowded dance area. Everything felt chaotic, gritty, but oddly comforting.

John’s senses reeled. The music seemed to vibrate in his bones, each beat propelling him forward into a space where he wasn’t hiding.

On the main floor, the group began to dance. At first, John hesitated, feeling awkward and unsure. Everyone around him moved with effortless confidence, their bodies swaying and snapping to the music like it was second nature.

But then he closed his eyes.

He let the rhythm guide him, shaking off the weight of his self-consciousness. The music wasn’t asking him to be good at this. It was asking him to move, to be.

The song changed, and the mood on the floor shifted. The energy became more fluid, more intimate.

That’s when he saw him—a sandy-haired guy with stubble and dimples standing across the room. Their eyes met for a brief, charged moment before John quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the music. But curiosity got the better of him, and when he glanced back, the guy was still watching him, smiling now.

John’s pulse quickened, his chest tight with a mix of excitement and terror.

The guy moved closer, his confidence unnerving but magnetic.

“You’re cute,” he said, leaning in to be heard over the music. “What’s your name?”

“John,” he replied, his voice barely audible over the pounding bass.

“I’m Kane.”

The guy’s hand brushed against John’s, rough but deliberate, a quiet question.

Moments later, their lips met.

The kiss was raw and electric, John’s world narrowing to this single, dizzying connection. The music faded into a blurred hum; the lights became nothing but a backdrop. He felt Kane’s hands, the faint taste of beer, the warmth of his body against his own.

It was everything he’d imagined and nothing like it at the same time.

When they finally pulled apart, Kane smiled, his dimples deepening.

“Can I get your number?”

John fumbled with Kane’s phone, his fingers shaking as he typed in his number.

“I work at Coles in Moonee Ponds,” Kane said. “Maybe we can hang out sometime?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” John managed, still breathless.

Kane kissed him again, softer this time, before disappearing into the crowd.

For a moment, John stood in a daze, his lips tingling from the kiss. He had just kissed someone—here, in this wild, unapologetic space.

But the night wasn’t over.

Back on the dance floor, the group welcomed him back as if nothing had happened. The music shifted again, and John noticed a guy and a girl dancing nearby, their movements synchronized and playful. The guy leaned closer to John, smiling, and without much thought, John leaned in and kissed him too.

It was nice, but it wasn’t the same.

Later, a girl with fiery red hair and a bold smile pulled John into a kiss. Her lipstick smudged slightly as she laughed against his lips, her hands resting on his shoulders. It was fun—exhilarating, even—but again, it wasn’t quite like Kane.

By the time they left the club, John felt weightless and full all at once, the haze of alcohol and music buzzing in his veins.

The night ended at McDonald’s, where the group traded stories and laughs over burgers and fries, their glamor slightly dimmed by the fluorescent lighting but their spirits still high.

John didn’t remember much about what he ate or the taxi ride home. He only remembered how heavily he reeked of smoke when he finally climbed into bed, his body still buzzing from the night’s energy. 

When John finally crawled into bed, his body still buzzing from the music and the memories, he couldn’t help but smile. For the first time, he felt like he’d stepped into the version of himself he’d always wanted to be.

As he lay there, memories of Kane’s kiss replayed in his mind. His lips tingled, and his ears still rang with the club’s music.  On the edge of sleep, John wondered if he was floating—or if it was just his imagination. 

On Tuesday morning, John woke up with a strange feeling, like something had shifted overnight. Relief about going out on Thursday played a part, but this was different—less tangible, as if something inside him had stirred but refused to show itself fully. 

He rolled onto his side, blinking against the sunlight streaming through the gaps in his blinds. The air was already heavy with heat, even though it couldn’t be much later than seven. Grabbing his phone, he confirmed the time: 7:01 a.m. Close enough. A message from Mary lit up his screen: 

“Johnny!!! ‘Dra said you’re coming to QnA on Thursday. Do you wanna join me for shopping and something fun today? Trust me, you’ll love it x.”

John smiled. Mary had a way of making everything seem like the best idea in the world. While ‘Dra was more reserved and introspective, Mary was an unstoppable burst of energy. She could light up a room and drag everyone into whatever plan she had dreamed up. 

This would be the first time they spent one-on-one time together, and John was both excited and slightly nervous. He typed out a quick reply: “Yes! What time and where?” 

Pulling himself out of bed, John headed to the kitchen, where the smell of toast and coffee greeted him. His dad sat at the table, watching the morning news with his usual ricotta-topped toast in hand. 

“Morning, matey,” his dad said, his voice muffled by a mouthful of food. 

“Morning,” John mumbled back, shuffling over to the coffee machine. 

The news anchor droned on about inquiries into the Black Saturday bushfires and incidents of prams nearly rolling onto train tracks across Melbourne’s rail network. His dad made a disapproving sound, shaking his head at the grim stories. 

“You know,” his dad said, “I get why you’re excited to go out with your friends, but your mum and I—we just worry, that’s all.” 

John sighed, feeling the weight of another well-meaning parental lecture. “Yeah, but I’m not doing anything wrong.” 

“I know, believe me, I know,” his dad said, setting his toast down. “It’s just a lot for us to process. There’s a lot we don’t know, and that’s scary for us.” 

“I’m not going to do anything stupid,” John said, sipping his coffee. “Besides, didn’t you tell me once that you drove a car off a cliff and barely got out in time?” 

His dad paused, then broke into a sheepish grin. “Yeah, that was… something. At the time, everything felt great—like my friends and I were invincible. But when you get older, you realize how fragile things really are.” 

John studied him for a moment. His dad wasn’t especially tall, but his solid build and steady presence had always made him seem larger than life. The streaks of gray in his hair and the faint lines around his eyes softened that impression now. 

“We just want you to be happy,” his dad said simply. 

For a moment, John felt the tension ease. “I know,” he replied, managing a small smile. 

After exchanging a few more messages with Mary, John found himself on a tram heading into the city by late morning. The trip usually took around 40 minutes, though he always added extra time in case of delays. 

John had been riding the tram into the city for years, watching it evolve with every trip. He remembered when Daimaru closed and Melbourne Central took its place, transforming the cityscape into something that seemed more vibrant and exciting each year. 

Today’s destination was St. Jerome’s, a place Mary had mentioned but John had never heard of. When he arrived at Caledonian Lane, just behind Myer, he wasn’t sure what to expect. 

The lane was drenched in sunlight, and the faint hum of music drifted through the air. The restaurants backing onto the lane looked unremarkable. An older man sat on the steps outside one, his tanned face turned to the sun as he took a long drag of his cigarette. 

John hesitated in front of an unassuming door. The entrance was flanked by fake vines and a makeshift bench, with no sign to confirm if this was St. Jerome’s. 

Swallowing his nerves, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. 

The sudden shift from the blinding sun to the dimly lit interior was jarring. A faint smell of toast mingled with the aroma of something herbal. 

“Hey, you!” called a girl with a sharp fringe and tattoos behind the bar. 

“Uh… hi,” John stammered. 

“You’re at St. Jerome’s,” she said, laughing lightly. 

“I’m meeting someone,” he said, glancing around nervously. 

“Sexy girl with the big hair?” the bartender asked, gesturing toward the courtyard. “She’s out back.” 

Blushing, John shuffled past her and into the cramped space. The mismatched lamps, odd figurines, and scribbled chalkboards gave the bar a strange, chaotic charm. It felt like stepping into someone’s cluttered but cozy living room. 

Outside, Mary was waiting with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She raised her bottle in a silent toast. 

“Johnny!” she exclaimed as he approached, pulling him into a hug. “Congratulations! You’re free from VCE hell!” 

They caught up over drinks, Mary regaling John with the latest gossip from their group. As always, she listened intently when it was John’s turn to speak, giving him her full attention in a way that felt rare and refreshing. 

“You know, schoolies is overrated,” Mary said, taking a drag of her cigarette. “Have fun in your own city—it’s way better.” 

John glanced up at the patch of sky visible between the surrounding buildings. It felt surreal to be here, just steps away from the Myer store he’d visited countless times with his family, yet in a world that felt entirely new. 

“Okay,” Mary announced, snapping him back to the moment. “We’re going shopping, and then we’re getting our cards read.” 

“Cards?” 

“Tarot, babe. You’ll love it.” 

John hesitated but agreed. He decided not to mention it to his parents; they didn’t need to know everything. 

—

Later, they arrived at the Royal Arcade, its intricate tiles and glass roof lending the place an almost otherworldly atmosphere. Spellbox sat nestled among the old shops, its wooden shelves brimming with crystals and books. 

The woman at the counter greeted Mary warmly. “Hello, darling. And who’s this?” 

“This is John,” Mary said. “He’s here for a reading with Serena.” 

The woman’s gaze lingered on John for a moment, her expression unreadable. “Ah, yes. Follow me.” 

John ascended the creaky wooden stairs, each step groaning underfoot. At the top, a woman waited. 

“John,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Come in.” 

The small room was quiet and dim, with an air of something ancient and knowing. Serena gestured for him to sit. 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. 

John blinked. “What do you mean?” 

She smiled faintly. “Place your hand on the deck and ask your question silently.” 

Hesitant but curious, John did as he was told. **What’s going to happen to me?** 

When he lifted his hand, Serena began shuffling. 

“You’re going to disappear,” she said, her voice calm but deliberate. “In a short time, you will no longer be here. You’ll be somewhere else entirely.” 

John’s stomach twisted, her words both thrilling and unnerving. 

“This does not mean death,” Serena added. “It rarely does.” 

She studied him carefully. “You can see, can’t you? It’s something your mother passed down to you—something very old but incomplete. Speak to her when the time feels right. Ask her about the old healer your Grandfather was friends with when he was a boy. She’s been waiting to tell you.” 

John’s heart pounded, his mind a whirl of emotions—fear, excitement, curiosity. 

“Any questions?” Serena asked. 

He shook his head. The answers he wanted felt just out of reach, waiting to reveal themselves in time. 

“Good luck, John,” Serena said, standing as he did. 

Outside, Mary greeted him eagerly. “Well? How was it?” 

“It was… nuts,” John said, still processing. 

The rest of the day passed in a haze of shopping and conversation. As the tram carried him home through a pink and purple sunset, John leaned his head against the window, his thoughts racing. 

Where was he going? And what did disappearing really mean? 

The days after John’s final exam felt strangely weightless. Without the structure of school, he drifted aimlessly, caught between the relief of being free and the uncertainty of what to do with that freedom. University wouldn’t start until March, and though he hadn’t received his ENTER score yet, he already pictured himself at the University of Melbourne. 

Since Year 10, John had been drawn to the campus—not for academic reasons, but for its beauty and quiet allure. The sprawling South Lawn, the gothic charm of the Old Arts Building, and the shadowy carpark that had apparently featured in Mad Max all carried an air of mystery. 

He’d wandered the grounds so many times, imagining himself as a student instead of an outsider. Sometimes, his older brother Theo invited him along on curriculum days. John would sit in on lectures, feeling both exhilarated and out of place, or hide in the Union House library, marvelling at its collection of manga. 

Theo had even encouraged him to visit the Queer Community club on campus. “Go in,” Theo had urged. “They’d love you there.” But John couldn’t summon the courage. The thought of walking in and declaring himself gay felt daunting—what if they told him he didn’t belong? 

Theo was John’s fiercest supporter, especially after he came out earlier that year. Their parents had struggled to accept it at first. John’s father avoided the topic entirely, while his mother’s disapproval came in sighs and sharp remarks about shame and appearances. 

“You don’t need to tell people that,” she’d said once, as though it was something John could file away, hidden and forgotten. 

John often felt like he lived under a microscope, every solitary walk or outing scrutinized with veiled questions. “Are you meeting someone?” his mother would ask, her voice tight with suspicion. At first, he’d laughed it off, denying it. But over time, he began lying just to see her reaction, a strange, defiant game he didn’t fully understand. 

The strain grew until one evening, it spilled over. John couldn’t remember what triggered it, but he found himself crying in front of Theo, the words tumbling out like water from a broken dam. 

“No one in this family would love me if they really knew me,” he’d sobbed. 

Theo’s reaction was immediate and fierce. He defended John, calling out their parents’ behavior with a fire John had never seen before. Arguments followed, some loud and others simmering below the surface, until their parents began to retreat. Slowly, their resistance softened, though it was clear the road ahead would be long. 

John spent more time with Theo after that, tagging along with his brother’s friends and preparing for a world outside high school. It was Theo who encouraged him to embrace his newfound adulthood—18 years old, out of school, and ready for new experiences. 

Still, John’s dating life was barely a blip on the radar. Apart from a brief, awkward romance with a boy named Benny during a Year 11 summer school program, his love life was non-existent. Benny had kissed him once, only to disappear just as quickly as he’d arrived. 

John often wondered if he’d missed his chance at love—or if his shy, awkward years before Year 10 had set him too far back. Back then, he was the target of relentless bullying, a shadow that loomed over him even now. It wasn’t until a growth spurt and the end of his “ugly duckling” phase that people began noticing him. 

But their interest didn’t erase the self-doubt etched into him. Whenever someone smiled too warmly or paid him a compliment, he half-expected a cruel joke to follow. 

On a quiet Monday, John sat on the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling as the itch in his chest grew. He needed to do something. Anything. 

On a whim, he messaged his friend ‘Dra: “I’m done with school. Finally.” 

‘Dra’s reply was instant: “Congratulations! Let’s go out this week and celebrate.” 

John’s heart leapt. For the first time, the possibility felt real. A wild night out—drinking, dancing, freedom. 

“Yes!” he typed back, barely containing his excitement. 

‘Dra sent the details: pre-drinks at 8:00, followed by QnA at 10:30. Bring your own drinks; mugs would be provided. 

Mugs? John frowned but shrugged it off. He was too excited to care about the specifics. Now he just had to convince his parents. 

John found his mother in the bedroom, sitting at the window seat, ironing shirts. The hiss of steam filled the air. 

“Mum,” he began, his voice cautious. 

She glanced up, her face drawn with exhaustion. “Mmmhmm?” 

“My friend asked me to go out with them on Thursday night,” John said. 

Her hands paused briefly, the iron hovering over a shirt. “Who is this friend? Where are you going?” 

“You know ‘Dra—the friend in the city. They want to take me to a club to celebrate finishing school.” 

“A club? On a Thursday?” Her tone was sharp, skeptical. “Your father has work the next day, and I’m not going to sleep. Do you think that’s fair on us?” 

It always came back to this—how his choices affected the family. Frustration flared in John’s chest. 

“I’m not going to Schoolies, Mum. This is my way of celebrating. I’ll be quiet coming back,” he said firmly. 

“What time will you be back? And what kind of club is this?” 

“I don’t know yet,” John admitted. “But we’re going out at 10:30.” 

Her eyes widened. “10:30? Jesus Christ!” She tugged at the shirt in her hands, as if wringing out her disapproval. 

“I can’t think about this right now,” she said finally. “I’ll talk to your father later.” 

John walked out, his chest tight with an all-too-familiar itch. Back in his room, he buried his face in a pillow, muffling a frustrated scream. He pressed his face down until the darkness bloomed with red spots. 

At dinner that night, Theo dominated the conversation, recounting stories from one of his tutorials. John seized the opportunity to bring up the club again. 

“Dad,” he said casually, “my friends invited me to a club to celebrate finishing school.” 

His father glanced up, amused. “Gonna have a few beers at the pub?” 

Before John could respond, his mother cut in. “It’s a club with those uni students he hangs out with. They’re going out at 11:00 on a Thursday.” 

His father chuckled. “That’s pretty late. Is that how they do it these days?” 

“It’s normal,” Theo chimed in. “Remember when I used to go to Goo? Same thing.” 

Their mother frowned. “Did he mention it’s a gay club?” 

The room fell silent. 

His father cleared his throat. “Can’t you just go somewhere normal?” 

John bristled. “You don’t even know gay people. How would you know what’s normal?” 

“I’ve worked with gay people before!” his father snapped. “The world hasn’t changed that much.” 

Theo set his fork down. “You know, I’ve been to a gay club. A friend of mine took me, and it was fine.” 

His mother’s eyes widened. “You went? But you’re not gay!” 

Theo shrugged. “You never ask where I go, so why do you grill John so much?” 

Silence fell over the table. Finally, their mother sighed. “Alright. If Theo says it’s fine, you can go. But be careful.” 

That night, John lay in bed, the excitement bubbling beneath his skin. For once, he felt a sense of calm—like the world might finally open its arms to him. 

The moonlight streamed through his blinds, casting soft patterns on the walls. Somewhere, a dog barked in the distance. John drifted to sleep, the promise of Thursday wrapping around him like a warm blanket. 

“Pens down, time is up. The English exam is now over,” Ms. Pomelo announced, her voice cutting through the tense silence that had hung in the room for hours. “Pens down, thank you!” 

John’s hand jerked open as if startled by her words, and his pen clattered onto the desk. He flexed his fingers, red and sore from three hours of relentless writing. His palm hovered over the pages filled with words he could barely recall. 

It wasn’t just the end of an exam. It was the end of high school. 

He looked around at his classmates, watching as they stirred slowly to life. Some exchanged glances, a silent chorus of relief, frustration, or disbelief. John rose from his seat, the plastic chair scraping awkwardly against the carpet. As he gathered his belongings, he caught Ms. Pomelo’s sharp eyes. 

“John, how do you feel?” she asked. 

“No surprises,” he replied. 

“Don’t be too confident,” she warned, her tone clipped but not unkind. “It means you probably missed something.” 

He nodded stiffly, unsure if her words were a challenge or a dig. Ms. Pomelo always had a knack for leaving him uneasy, as though resting too easily wasn’t allowed in her presence. 

The hallway outside the library was alive with chatter and the shuffle of footsteps. Students bemoaned their effort or cheered their freedom, their energy spilling out like steam from a pressure cooker. John threaded through the crowd without stopping, avoiding eye contact. 

The school gates loomed ahead. 

For years, John had dreamed of this moment—the day he’d take his final steps away from the classroom, free from its suffocating monotony. He imagined music swelling, his name etched in invisible fireworks. But now, as he crossed the threshold, there was no parade. The sky was overcast, the air cool. It was just another day. 

Each step felt strangely hollow. His brain understood the reality, but his heart clung to a fantasy where endings came with grandeur. The gap between those expectations and reality left a familiar ache, a sense of longing that often tugged at the corners of his life. He walked the familiar streets in silence, letting his mind wander. 

The walk home brought back fragments of the past, clear and vivid. In Year 7, he kept close behind his older brother and his friends, silent and unsure where he fit. By Year 10, the journey became something to endure, with jeers and the occasional piece of fruit thrown his way. By Year 11, the walks were filled with easy laughter shared with friends, the kind that made the school day feel lighter. Each memory came and went, simple but sharp, as familiar as the path under his feet.

He flinched as a bus rushed by, snapping him out of his thoughts. The past receded like a tide, leaving him firmly in the present. 

Before boarding the tram, he made a detour to Royal Chopsticks. The small suburban Chinese takeaway store had become a sanctuary of sorts, its familiar warmth and aroma a comfort after countless school days. 

The shopkeeper, a kind-eyed woman with an ever-present smile, handed him a dim sim without needing to ask. 

“Last day, huh?” she said, her tone gentle. 

“Yeah,” John replied, startled by her perceptiveness. 

“Good luck,” she said softly. 

He hesitated, her words lingering. “Thanks for everything. I’ll be back.” 

The woman smiled, though a faint sadness flickered in her expression. “It’s okay. Good luck,” she said again before turning back to her work. 

As he walked away, the dim sim felt heavier than usual in his hand. It might be his last. The thought unsettled him, though he couldn’t quite explain why. After today, it would no longer be a dim sim that carried him through the grind of school afternoons. It would just be food—ordinary and unmoored from the life he’d known. 

The tram ride home was uneventful, and soon he was unlocking the front door of his house. First the security door, then the heavier wooden one. Even this mundane ritual felt slightly surreal, as though he were walking through a life that wasn’t quite his anymore. 

“Mum?” he called as he stepped inside. 

“How’d you go, John?” came her voice, slightly muffled. She was in the bathroom—he could hear the hiss of hairspray and the clatter of items on the counter. 

“I think I went well. Finished everything and had time to read over my essays.” He moved toward the kitchen, thirst clawing at his throat. 

By the time he reached for his second glass of water, his mother appeared, her shoes clicking softly against the wooden floor. 

“Come here,” she said, hands on her hips. “Give me a kiss.” 

John set the glass down and leaned into the embrace. 

“You’ve done so well this year,” she said, her voice tender. “It’ll all pay off.” 

“I hope so.” 

His gaze drifted to the kitchen wall, the framed family photos blurring as his eyes lost focus. His mother pulled back, her expression already shifting. “I’m heading to Highpoint to pick up a few things. Want to come?” 

“Nah,” John replied. “I think I’ll stay here and clear out my room. It’s a mess after all the study.” 

She frowned. “Are you sure? Maybe we could sell some of those textbooks. Your father and I paid good money for them.” 

“They’re not worth selling,” he said. “They’re changing the curriculum next year anyway.” 

“Bloody crooks,” she muttered, grabbing her keys. “Alright, then. Call if you need anything.” 

John closed his bedroom door and took in the chaos before him. His desk was a shrine to his year-long war with VCE: piles of notes, battered textbooks, and a whiteboard scrawled with equations and timelines. 

His gaze wandered to the posters above his bed—mysteries solved by Kindaichi, the digital dystopia of *The Matrix*. The bookshelf across the room offered a mix of well-worn manga, DVDs, and framed photos. One object stood out: a delicate fan his father’s coworker had gifted him, its intricate design a reminder of Japan. 

John’s relationship with Japan was complicated. The language had been his nemesis through most of high school, a source of frustration and near-failure. Then, one day in Year 10, everything changed. 

That night, he had a dream. He was walking through a vibrant park, its ground carpeted with red and yellow leaves. Beside him, a boy spoke in a voice that felt both familiar and distant. 

“It’s up those stairs,” the boy said, pointing ahead. 

John replied in perfect Japanese, the fluency startling him even in the dream. 

The boy laughed. “It must always be hot in Australia!” 

John smiled, warmth blooming in his chest. They climbed the stairs together, their laughter carrying through the air. Then the light grew brighter, and brighter—until he woke up. 

The next day, he breezed through a listening comprehension test that would have stumped him a week before. His teacher, Takeguchi-sensei, was baffled. “John-san… how?” 

“I don’t know,” John had replied, and it was the truth. 

But the dream lingered. It felt like more than a dream, as though it belonged to a version of his life he hadn’t lived yet. 

John blinked, snapping back to his cluttered room. He opened the window, letting the fresh air sweep through, and set to work clearing out the remnants of his school years.